Gone, Daddy O, Gone
by nico78
Summary: Olivia goes back to sort things out and Peter's gone... Fill-in-the-blank set between the argument and Olivia telling Walter he's gone.


___Not my characters, love you Fringe, only borrowing them for a little fun. This is in honor of Brown Betty next week---a totally fantastical, impossible scenario, but I think we need a little fun after all this heaviness. Besides, it's not THAT out there...._

* * *

Peter stood leaning against the nurse's desk, trying _not_ to look like he was leaning. He still hadn't signed his paperwork and had a very large, angry nurse about to half-nelson him back into a bed. And no, this was no fantasy of his.

His clothes were a wreck, wrinkled, torn, a bit of blood on his collar. For it being almost three in the morning, he was unable to sleep because he was stuck.

And he didn't like being stuck _anywhere_.

He had to move.

He'd gotten a little angry, well a lot angry. Probably said more than he should have to Walter. Olivia was like a statue, she said nothing, gave nothing away. And he didn't either. Tit for tat. She knew. She had to know, that had to be all those little looks her and Walter had been sharing.

It was enough to make anyone paranoid. She knew. Walter knew. It was their little secret. Why? Why hadn't _she_ told him? His father, he knew why. No surprise there. But Olivia?

The nurse came back with a bottle in her hands and he plastered on a smile for her benefit. _A bottle of ibuprofen. Yay, _he thought. _Charge it to the Federal Government, tell them to stick the bill where the sun don't shine. _

"There's 20 in there. Take _ONE--_" she emphasized the one with her finger, "--every eight hours. I've seen your backside and you're gonna need it in a couple of hours," nurse Carla informed him.

_Sure, whatever you say, lady, just get me the hell out of here..._

She had argued with him earlier to stay at least overnight, but he felt fine other than his back twinging every now and then. No headache for having a concussion and being out for thirty-six hours. Scratch that, thirty-four hours.

"Thanks." He smiled, maybe it was more of a grimace than he wanted her to see.

She shook her head at him.

Yeah, he was starting to feel a dull ache already.

"Sign here," exasperated, she put a clipboard and pen in front of him and he scribbled something illegible on it. She grabbed the form and flipped over some pages.

"And initial and sign here," she pointed. "What am I going to tell your father? And your blonde friend? You know, they never left the whole time you were here." She could guilt the stubbornest of the stubborn into staying in her hospital wing.

"Tell them whatever you want. Just tell them I'm gone."

She shook her head again.

He felt guilty about ditching Olivia. But then maybe he didn't. He was guilty of nothing. Guilty of being a fool more likely. He was so happy to see her standing there when he woke up. He'd been confused at first. Had he been zapped into a parallel universe or disintegrated like the FBI agent and was waiting in line for purgatory? It all came back to him then.

He at least hoped it wasn't hell. But turned out, it was.

Olivia had come back and stood in the door moments after seeing the results of his reduction of Walter to the size of a fruitfly. She told him she was going to drop Walter off and come back. And they were going to talk.

Fine, whatever. He nodded, looked at her through slits because the light was a little bright. Didn't want to talk to her. He just wanted to get the hell out of this hospital. Then maybe he could figure it all out. No that's not true, he did want to talk to her. But just not right now.

He rode the elevator down from the eleventh floor. It was early in the morning and the hospital was empty so it went quick. And he was glad it didn't make him feel like puking on the way down.

When he got to the main entrance he stood next to a parked ambulance, the flashing lights slightly dizzying, the cold hit him hard. He was in his shirt sleeves. He reached into the bag and pulled out his jacket.

Only half of it came out.

"No..."

He held up the left half of his jacket and turned it around to inspect it.

"No, no, no..." His nice woolen jacket, the one he really liked, was cut in two, right up the back.

_Bastards!_

He rubbed his arms, it helped a little, and contemplated putting on the two pieces of his jacket. No, that would have to be a last resort.

He'd even lost his scarf. But he still had his pride.

He walked inside the front lobby area and over to a water fountain. He pulled out his bottle of ibuprofen and popped three. Washed them down. Groaned as he tried to stand up too quickly.

He needed an ATM.

After searching all over, he found one in the basement outside the cafeteria. He was about to dip into his emergency fund for the first time in two years.

He reached for his back pocket automatically.

No wallet.

He patted his jeans down and then reached into his bag, pulled out both halves of the jacket. Of course, it wasn't in there. He looked in the pockets of his jacket. Put his hand in the bag, not believing it.

Nothing. No wallet anywhere.

Ignoring the aches and pains, he took a deep breath, and walked back to the elevator. Jammed the up button.

He wandered back towards the front entrance of the hospital, into an empty waiting area, and sat down on a soft bench.

He was really tired of all this walking around business. He needed a break.

He leaned his head back against the wall. Surprisingly comfortable. This was probably as good a place to sleep as a hospital bed.

And cheaper.

* * *

Astrid answered the door and let Walter in, Olivia stood in the doorway. She didn't want to get sucked inside, she had to leave.

"I'm going back to the hospital, Walter. I need to talk to Peter. Can you give me some idea of what he said to you?"

Walter was beside himself with grief and had hardly said anything on the car ride over, mumbling on and on about pies. She knew it was bad, really bad, from his reaction. She didn't expect him to say anything, but she was tenacious and tried one more time.

"He said I wasn't his father." He looked at her, willing her with his mind to do anything to make Peter stay. To go back to before the bridge when they were talking in the kitchen and he was able to properly explain things.

"Olivia please, explain it to him. Explain what happened." He nodded at her and stepped into the kitchen. Started throwing open cupboards. "I must... I must find...."

She swallowed back the anger she felt at herself. She hadn't wanted to tell Peter and she hadn't wanted him to find out like this. But the damage was done.

"How's Peter?" Astrid asked. She had gone home from the hospital earlier in the night and managed to get a little sleep before Olivia called her asking to meet her at Peter and Walter's house.

Olivia stepped inside and shut the door. "Uh, he says he's okay. The doctor said he just needs to stay overnight." she gave her a nervous smile. "We'll see if he does," Olivia added.

"Is _this_ because of..." Astrid looked wide-eyed at her, apprehensive.

Olivia and Astrid had talked about it. Astrid had brought it up, shockingly. She knew something was wrong. She knew what it was about. Everybody knew. Poor Peter. She should have told him. She let it go too long. She let the guy from their last case get to her, she had ignored her instincts.

She felt she had betrayed him.

Olivia nodded guiltily. "Yeah."

"I made coffee," Astrid told her. Always helpful Astrid.

"That would be terrific," Olivia replied. It might be a late night.

Astrid went into the kitchen to look for a clean mug and tried to avoid Walter who was pulling a stack of cookbooks off the top shelf of a cabinet.

"It's got to be here somewhere," he muttered to no one in particular. "Got to be..."

"It is Walter, just calm down," Astrid said to him in soothing tones. "What is it that's so important you have to cook right now in the middle of the night?"

Astrid poured a mug of steaming coffee and handed it to Olivia. She held it up to blow on it.

"Thanks."

Olivia walked towards the front door and left Walter muttering to Astrid about pies as he held up a jar of strawberry jam.

"No, Walter..." Astrid scolded as Olivia closed the door.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, she was back at the hospital's emergency room parking lot. Flashed her badge at Ray the security guard who nodded back at her and opened the locked double doors. He had been on duty last night. They had talked briefly. He flirted with her, but she wasn't in the mood and didn't notice.

Olivia walked the empty pale blue halls of Boston Memorial. She knew what she would find. Or what she wouldn't find.

She rode the elevator up to the eighth floor.

Approached the nurse's desk, there was no one there. She went to Peter's room. No lights on. She stepped in and saw the bed was empty.

She was too late.

She flipped on the light and peeked in the bathroom, maybe he just got up to use it.

Empty.

She opened the closet and noticed his bag of clothes was gone. She'd only been gone maybe forty-five minutes. Peter Bishop, she knew him too well. Maybe better than she rightfully should.

She hoped her little plan had worked.

He couldn't have gone too far without his wallet.

* * *

She discovered him curled up in the corner of the outpatient waiting area, tightly clutching his bag labeled 'personal belongings'.

She sat quietly on the bench next to him. He didn't move. He was out like a light. Checked himself out AMA and didn't even make it out of the building.

"Peter," she shook him gently. He was still.

She wanted to check his pulse, worried for a moment, but saw he was breathing. Told herself to stop it.

"Peter." She said louder, shook him a little harder until his eyes slowly opened.

"Hmmmm?" he said groggily.

"Let's go," she said.

He became aware of exactly who he was talking to. "You took my wallet," he slurred and sat up, looking at her behind dark eyes. The look was pure daggers. This was a feral side of him that she'd actually seen before, very recently. With the virus in the building. He had scared her then, because he wasn't himself. He had done things she thought him incapable of doing. But this, she could handle this.

"I did." She agreed.

"You--took--my--wallet." He said again, slower.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I'm sorry for everything. Let's just get you back up to your room. You shouldn't have checked yourself out."

"Yes, I should have," he said. "Just gimme my wallet. I'm gone, daddy-o. Gone."

"I don't have it with me," she said and looked at him funny. Did he just say what she thought he said?

"It's in my car."

"Fine, we'll go to your car," he said angrily. He thought about that again. There would be a lot of walking involved. On second thought, maybe he didn't need to go to her car. He sat back and closed his eyes again. She thought he'd fallen back asleep. Or maybe he was still thinking about it.

"We'll go to my car and then you go back upstairs," she was negotiating with a slightly comatose brick wall. There was no way she could lose.

He didn't answer.

She was halfway across the room to go grab a wheelchair she saw off in a far corner, when he lurched to his feet.

"Take me to your car!" he told her. Yelled actually, so that she and the rest of the hospital could hear him.

Well, he was determined, she'd give him that.

And she was fairly certain he was completely blitzed.

She wheeled the chair over, grabbed his bag and grabbed his arm.

"No, you're not taking me anywhere in that," he said drunkardly, pulling away from her and almost toppling over. He grabbed her and she straightened him out.

Oh, she wished she could have a good laugh right about now. A black sense of humor, she had.

"We're going out to my car, Peter, to get your wallet. And then you're free to go wherever you want." She didn't mean that, just humored him. "It's just easier and quicker if I push you." She felt Peter would respond well to reason in this state.

"Fine. But if you take me back upstairs I'm jumping out," he warned her, wagging a finger at her.

"Okay, Peter, but if you jump out of this wheelchair, you will be here another week." She smiled at him.

He seemed to think that over. Didn't want that. Nope, not at all.

"Fine," he agreed and sat down in the chair.

Olivia was actually shocked at how easily he gave in.

She pushed him through the hospital corridors and out the emergency room doors, nodding at the security guard on her way out. He nodded over his newspaper.

She wheeled him up to the back of her car and put on the brakes. She opened her door and rummaged around on the floor under the seat looking for Peter's wallet that she'd stashed under there.

The passenger side door opened, startling Olivia, and Peter got in. He curled up in the seat. Made himself as comfortable as he could. Even put on his seatbelt.

She looked over at him. He'd gone immediately to sleep. What was she supposed to do now?

Wallet forgotten, she went around and closed his door and put the wheelchair aside.

Got into the driver's side and thought quickly. There was only one place for him to go.

What was she supposed to do, he had willingly got in her vehicle. And he didn't look like he was moving any time soon. And he had just checked himself out of the hospital, they probably weren't going to take him back so quickly.

She started the car and put it in reverse. Cranked the heater. The car squealed as she rounded a corner.

"Dunham peals out," Peter said and laughed very stonerishly at his own joke behind closed eyes.

Olivia smiled. She had never seen Peter high and it was quite amusing.

* * *

She pulled into her assigned parking space behind her building. He was out. She had to get him up a small flight of stairs. But it might as well be the Empire State Building. And hell no, she was not King Kong.

"Peter, get up. We're here." He didn't move.

"Peter, we're here," she shook his hand and his arm and his shoulder and then his eyes barely opened, looked at her through slits.

"You stole my wallet." he told her and then looked around outside the car, realizing something was different. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Home."

"Better not be," he said, worriedly, but he settled back down in the seat, like jelly in a mold. He was very trusting of her at this moment. And she knew something was wrong.

She reached for the bag that sat at his feet and rummaged through it. Took out the pill bottle inside and read the label.

Soma. 350 mg.

The U.S. Government, the last, best healthcare in America, sprung for Soma. Wonders never ceased.

"How many of these did you take?" she asked him, shaking the bottle. He mumbled something into his shoulder, but she didn't catch it.

The bottle said twenty. She counted out the pills in her palm. Seventeen.

He had taken three extra strength muscle relaxers and she now had to get him up a flight of stairs. Great, she should have kept him at the hospital. What was she going to do now? At least she hoped he wasn't going to be hopping a plane for Venezuela any time soon.

"Peter, we have to go," she said and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "They're coming." Hoping her little game worked.

"Who?" he perked up. "Who's coming?" he sounded worried. Looked around, doubly worried.

"Listen to me, we have to get out of here." She hated doing this, but it seemed to light a fire under him and he wouldn't remember it tomorrow any way. She pushed at him to get out.

"A'right, a'right, Livia..." He fumbled with the door handle and got out with some effort.

"'s cold," he said hugging himself.

She led him up the stairs, pulled him, held him up. Eight herculean steps.

And then they made it to her door.

He lurched a little next to her as she struggled with the keys. But he caught himself and giggled.

So did she. She had not expected any of this to happen. She expected to have a knock down drag out fight with Peter or to find him gone, but never this. Not a stoned and giggling maniac with his hair askew. Looking like he didn't have a care in the world. She was so relieved she had found him before he bounced out of there and she quite possibly never saw him again, that she giggled too for more reasons than she could properly say at that moment.

"I'm gonna remember you like this, 'Livia," Peter said with a goofy smirk.

"I highly doubt that, Peter," she said to him and he grinned back at her. He was too cute for words.

She got the door open and pushed him gently towards the couch. He was stumbling over his feet. The end was in sight. He was t-minus 1 minute from total shut down. He laid down and snuggled up against a throw pillow.

"Wake me when 's all over," he said. Closed his eyes and was out for the count.

She grabbed a blanket and spread it over him. She had to tell Walter something. Anything.

But she was going to take a little nap before she went over there.

She settled into a comfy chair in her front room, better keep an eye on her patient in case he woke up, which she doubted. She set her cell phone alarm and fell asleep.

* * *

_Well, that's it, no endless chapters! Or are there?!? Muah ha ha..._


End file.
